


Changing Fate

by SpiritofaRose



Category: Fate/Zero, Fate/stay night (Visual Novel)
Genre: Holy Grail, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2018-08-20
Packaged: 2018-12-02 16:15:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11512929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpiritofaRose/pseuds/SpiritofaRose
Summary: The Sixth Holy Grail War is coming to a close. The Grail is corrupt and degenerating, the Masters are more ruthless than ever, and Gwen Brenin, an unknown mage and Einzbern pawn, is caught in the crossfire -along with her five Servants. But the rules of magic are breaking, and the Grail is only the first step in a world where evil and power make right.





	1. The Pyre

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Servants do not get happy endings.

_April 23rd, 1746_

_Portsmouth, England_

 

They drag her out of her cell at dawn.

Strangers turn to stare as the soldiers march past. Street rats, prowling for full pockets, glance curiously at her and move on. The farmers with their battered carts and drunkards stumbling home from the pubs give her a cursory glance. She feels their leering gazes on her tattered white shift, the only article of clothing the guardsmen let her keep. She lifts her head high and marches on.

The main square is beginning to fill, even though the sun is still crawling above the dusky horizon. The soldiers have to force their way through, shoving her in their wake. The growing crowd jeers and throws stones and rotting vegetables. One hits a guard. He curses and draws his sword. The crowd shifts back, but the missiles and taunts keep coming. She ignores them. Worse is the way some of the women look at her, the ones who don't mock or laugh. The ones who know there is no point in taunting the dead.

The pyre looms up in front of her, a rough-made stack of wood sloshed with oil. She catches her breath, fighting to stay calm as the soldiers drag her onto the tiny platform and bind her to the metal stake.

"Estelle d'Eustre, of France," the herald intones. "You are hereby charged of crimes against the Crown. Your crimes include murder of the king's soldiers-"

"Self defense," she mutters.

"Treason against your country's allies-" 

She scoffs despite her fear. As if the so-called alliance between England and France was anything more than a farce.

"Repeated crimes of larceny, defacement of the king's property, blasphemy against the Church of England-"

She'll be damned if she lets that one pass. "Heresy!" she shouts. The crowd erupts. "Shut her up!"

"French whore!"

"Burn her!"

She listens impassively. She's heard worse in her father's stables.

"And commandeering a vessel of the British Royal Navy," the herald finishes, undeterred. "For your crimes against His Majesty and the Crown, you are hereby sentenced to burn until death. Do you have any final words?"

"Burn her!" someone shouts, and the crowd cheers. She watches stonily. "Yes," she says and looks at the herald. “ _Brûle en enfer_.”  
  
 The crowd murmurs. The herald, however, is an educated man. The corners of his mouth twist downward. He turns to the soldiers. "Burn her."

The crowd roars its approval. A soldier lights a torch. She flinches away from the dark liquid puddling at her feet. Fear clogs her chest. She takes a shuddering breath. Smoke stings her lungs.

The soldier hefts the torch. Their eyes meet, wide pleading blue-grey to flat brown. The soldier is young, the first traces of a beard on his round face.

He tosses the torch. The pyre erupts.

Estelle screams. Flame licks her skin. She gasps and screams again as heat sears her lungs. The metal chains burn into her skin. She arches her back in agony. Pain scrambles her thoughts. She can hear Papa's voice.

_Be strong,_ mon coeur.

She screams again. The crowd is watching, taut with anticipation. The flames rise to block the sea of faces.

Raphael's voice. Dear, beloved Raphael. _You will change the world, I know it._

She can hear Mama screaming as the men drag her out of the house. 

The fire is inside her skin. Her lungs are burning. The sky has gone black. 

Fire. Pain.

And a voice, unfamiliar and far away. A girl chanting.

"I hereby propose..."

Agony.

"...If thou dost accede to this will and reason, answer me!"

And another Voice. Emotionless. Inhuman. _What do you choose?_

It can't end like this. There must be more. There must be!

_I can grant your wish._

My wish?

She falls into darkness, a nothingness that takes away the pain. The girl's voice grows louder. "I hereby swear. I will be all that is good in the eternal world. I will be the disposer of evil in the eternal world."

A circle of light appears in the darkness. The voice is coming from it. "Thou, the seven days clad in the great Trinity, come forth from the circle of constraint. Come, Guardian of the Heavenly Scales!"

_What do you choose?_ the Voice demands.

She steps into the circle.

And the world transforms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I changed d'Eustre's name. I realized (after a lot of people commented on it) that a girl named Jeanne who dies by fire isn't exactly original. I blame my subconscious d: Estelle seems to fit well though...


	2. The Pawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even a pawn can be queen.

 

_October 16th, 2055_

_Fuyuki, Japan_

 

The train rocks sideways on its tracks. The fifteen-year-old girl, her blue hood pulled low over her face, clutches the metal pole tighter and watches the city lights flick past through the dark windows. She tugs the sleeve of the man standing besides her. "Gil, look," she says in accented German, drawing curious looks from the other passengers, and points.

The man glances idly out the window. "We've arrived. Good. I find all this traveling wearisome." He curls his lip at the crying toddler on the seat across from him. "Especially when we must travel alongside common peasants."

The girl barely listens. Gil's been grumbling ever since they boarded the plane back in Germany, two days ago. She wraps her mittened fingers around the dirty metal and leans forward to look past the reflection of the train lights. Through the smeared fingerprints and scratched glass she can just make out the first of the towering buildings racing towards them. She sucks in her breath in excitement and promptly starts to cough. The Japanese businessman beside her shifts away and politely covers his mouth and nose with his scarf. She grimaces apologetically before another series of coughs rack her lungs. The toddler yanks on his mother's coat, his high clear voice carrying over the rattle of the train and murmur of voices. "Mommy, look!"

Gil touches her shoulder. Mana flows into her like a cool cloth, settling in her throat and lungs. The coughing fit eases. She clears her aching throat. "Thanks," she mutters.

Gil's grip tightens painfully. "The air is unclean here," he remarks, digging blunt nails through her four layers of clothing and into her shoulder. "It is not fit for a king."

"Or a peasant girl, apparently," the girl mutters. "And I know you don't like it, but we have to be here." She glances around at the bored passengers and switches to her native Welsh. "Elder Ulrich wants us to establish a base here before the other Masters arrive." She pries his fingers off her shoulder. "And besides," she adds, switching back to German, "it's almost an entire year by ourselves." She counts off on her fingers. "No elders, no more tutors, no more dusty grimoires...just you and me and a whole city to ourselves." She can barely keep from wriggling with excitement.

The toddler is still tugging his mother's arm and pointing to them. "Mommy!"

"Shh," his mother says absently, pulling him back onto her lap.

Gil is less enthused. "I have been to this city many times. Each time it grows more crowded and filthy. I refuse to spend so much unnecessary time here. We shall find a suitable establishment on the outskirts of the city and I shall remain there. You are free to do as you please."

"If I die, you do too," she reminds him. Gil's frown deepens. "Shall I lock you in a cage then to keep you safe?" he inquires, very, very politely, his scarlet cats' eyes narrowing to slits. Her happy wriggle turns into a squirm. "No..."

"Mommy, look! That man looks like Neko-chan!"

"Don't point, Tamaki, it's rude."

Gil sneers elegantly at the excited toddler and goes back to slouching against the edge of the seat. "I do not see why I must stay materialized," he complains.

She ignores him. The train is slowing down. A monotonous female voice crackles through the intercom system in blurred Japanese. "Approaching Hirigana Station. Please back away from the doors. Thank you very much."

Outside the night sky has reversed into dusk from the glow of the streetlights. Rows of dark office buildings flicker like electronic stars. The train slides into the station and shudders to a stop. She braces herself against the jolt, her heart beating faster.

A rough hand yanks her hood back. She starts, reaching up instinctively as dark curls spill down her back. Gil finds a stray strand and tugs, hard, his favorite trick when he's annoyed. "Gwenhwyfar," he says, using her full name even though he knows full well she hates it. "Do _not_ ignore me."

Strangers brush past them, swarming through the open doors. She starts to follow, but Gil has a firm grip on her hair. "This is not a game, little Master," he says, his scarlet eyes glittering. "We are not here so that you can revel in your pretend freedom."

She stiffens. "I know that," she says tersely, and stops, surprised, as a small hand tugs on her dark cargo pants. The toddler peers up at her with wide slanted dark eyes. He catches sight of Gil behind her and gives a delighted cry. "Neko-chan!"

His mother swoops down on him. "I am very sorry," she says in heavily accented English, and switches back to Japanese to scold her son as she hustles him off of the train. Gil looks bemused. "What did that child call me?"

Gwen laughs. "A -" she changes her mind. "A lion," she says, and grins up at him. "He thought you were a lion."

Gil lets go of her hair, mollified. "An intelligent child, for a mongrel," he says, and stands. "Come, Gwenhwyfar."

"It's just Gwen," she mutters for the millionth time, but she follows him out into the harsh fluorescent lights of the station. "And besides," she says, her grey-blue eyes dancing, "you never would have chosen me if you didn't think I could win."

Gil snorts. "Do not flatter yourself so, Gwenhwyfar. You are still far too inexperienced and naive, and the Grail Wars have broken Masters far stronger than you." He smirks. "Still...with enough time and proper guidance, you may yet prove an interesting pawn."

"Even pawns can be queens," she says, jogging to keep up with his long strides. He takes her mittened hand before the crowd can part them and pulls her along in his wake. The station is full of people, even though it's almost midnight, but strangers give way before Gil as if they can sense the power emanating from him. "True," he says, and looks down at her. The harsh lighting glints off his blonde hair and casts deep shadows over the angular lines of his face, the strong straight line of the nose and the wide mouth slightly down-turned at the corners. Only his eyes are inhuman, the pupils black slits, the irises deep wine-red and infinite. He radiates power and arrogance.

She knows with simple certainty that the moment they stepped out onto the station, every Master in Fuyuki felt it. The weaker ones will hide and watch and wait and the strong -the strong will come for them, because they will also have heard of the newest Master, the third-rate mage sent by the Einzberns as a desperate final attempt at the Grail.

"They will come," Gil says, reading her thoughts. "They will expect another pawn."

She tightens her grip on his hand. Overhead the city breaks into full view. The crisp night air bites her lungs and stings her skin. She can almost feel the power in the ley lines beneath her feet, hear the whisper of magic in the wind. Gil blazes like a small sun beside her, almost blotting out the night in her magical vision. Her command seals are hot on her collarbone.

"Then they will find a Queen," she says, and tilts her face into the wind and smiles at her first taste of freedom.

 

 

 


	3. The Game Begins

_October 18th, 2055_

_Fuyuki, Japan_

 

He's lost count of the years.

Time ceases to matter. He roams the abandoned apartment complex restlessly, trapped inside the narrow stretch of cracked cement and crumbling concrete buildings, tethered to the spot where he died.

No one comes here. There are rumors that the place is haunted, even though to his knowledge he's never been seen. His body, translucent and torn between the pseudo life and temporary death of Heroic Spirits, is barely more than a silhouette, shadowy features and transparent skin hung on opaque bones that flicker and fade with each breath of wind. The apartment complex is almost as destitute. Every so often the distant rumble of traffic creeps nearer, or he sees headlights flashing through the fog, but the complex remains empty, as though the reek of death lingers, and even though the bodies have long rotted away the memories are as trapped here as he is.

The blood stains on the pitted cement have washed away. The bones have crumbled and been scattered throughout the complex by wild animals, but the broken wheelchair remains where it had been thrown onto its side on the far end of the parking lot, rusted and twisted but miraculously still in one piece. Sometimes the upended wheel creaks slowly, turned by an unfelt breeze. He gives it a wide berth on his rounds.

In a way, he's grateful. No matter how many times his death replays in his mind, no matter how many times he feels the spear plunge into his chest by his own unwilling hands, no matter how many times he searches his mind for the shock on her face as he lashes out, screaming at her, at all of them, at the cruelty of this war and this world, no matter how many times the pain and guilt and shame and despair consume him anew -no matter how many times, it is still better than the nightmare he was forced to live before. After all, even this purgatory pales in comparison to Hell.

So he wanders the complex, and listens to the faint sounds of the city, and replays the memories, and slowly grows used to the silence.

He is a fluke, an exception, and for once in his short life and centuries of service he counts himself lucky.

After all, purgatory is better than Hell.

* * *

Gwen straightens up and rubs the dust from her itching eyes. The stiff beige sofa emits another cloud of dust and settles firmly back onto its clawed wooden feet. She scowls.

The manor Elder Ulrich had directed them to had, according to the telegram he'd sent along with strict instructions for her, originally belonged to an old mage family almost as prestigious as the Einzberns. The line was dying out and and the last remaining heir had rented it out before they fled Fuyuki before the onset of the Grail War.

_Stay well-hidden,_ the telegram instructed in crisp old-fashioned German.  _Do_ _not reveal your intentions or presence to any other magus. Investigate the local ley lines carefully and prepare your defenses well. Do not waste the time I have given you. This is a time for careful preparation and rigid discipline, not childish exploration._ (She rolled her eyes -the old man knew her a little too well) _A_ _nd above all, G ör, do not allow the Servant to leave the manor grounds lest the other Masters become aware of his power. _

It went on, dictating the location of the nearby ley lines, including the one that ran directly underneath the manor and the spells she should use to harness its power, and ended with another harsh warning about her 'foolish ideas' and her apparently 'lax control of the Servant'. She rolled her eyes again and handed the telegram to Gil before he could twitch his fingers impatiently at her again. 

Gil read it with thinly veiled disinterest and crumpled it when he was done. "Control me, indeed," he muttered, and snapped his fingers and incinerated the telegram. "What an utterly foolish idea." He marched out of the entryway and down a flight of stairs as if he had lived there all his life. There was a mage's study in the basement, cluttered with dusty tomes and heavy wooden furniture. The faint outline of a summoning circle could still be seen etched into the worn stone floor, and a handful of semi-precious gems were scattered across the messy desk. Gil strode past, wrinkling his nose at all the dust, and vanished into the next room. It was Spartan by contrast, the bare stone walls at odds with the single red velvet sofa and sleek low table in front of it. Gil sprawled down on the sofa and summoned a jar of wine and a heavy golden goblet, ignoring her. Gwen left him to sulk there and went back upstairs to explore the rest of the manor.

Compared to the sprawling Einzbern castle, it was almost tiny, but she rather liked the sleek wood walls and elegant antique furniture. There was a formal living room, a study, a surprisingly modern kitchen, and three bedrooms on the second floor along with two old fashioned bathrooms.

She loves all of it, even the dust -at least, until she tries to clean it. Then she discovered that there was cobwebs in every corner, the kitchen had mold spreading behind the refrigerator and the heavy carved furniture was almost impossible for her to move by herself. And naturally Gil was nowhere to be found. 

She tries anyway, moving what she could, scrubbing down every spare inch and sweeping until the clouds of dust forced her to stop. Her first two days of freedom sweep by unnoticed.

Gil finds her on the evening of the second day, buried in a stack of ancient grimoires and coughing as she tries to sort through them. The sound of his deep voice behind her makes her start so violently she bumps the biggest stack of books. It teeters and starts to topple over. She yelps.

Gil catches it and tosses the books at her feet. "I had wondered where you where. Your aura had grown weak." His pale brows draw together. "How long have you tarried here amidst the dust?"

"I'm just-" her voice cracks, hoarse from coughing. She clears her voice and tries again in a whisper. "I'm just finishing up. Gil, look. Some of these are ancestral tomes, spells passed down through the family for generations. Did you know the mage who used to live here is descended from Ptolemy? Some of these spells are _amazing_. I've only gotten through half of them, but look." She seizes a nearby tome and heaves it into her lap. "See?" She jabs a finger at the frail parchment where a row of hieroglyphs break the faded Greek text. "It says this is copied from Amenhotep's tomb. I _knew_ the ancient Egyptians had spells for harnessing the power of ley lines -what else could the pyramids be for?- but Master Eiden never believed me." She looks up triumphantly, her sea-clouded eyes shining. "If these spells work, I can cast a barrier strong enough that no one will be able to break it. I'll have the most powerful base of all the Masters. Gil, I _knew_ I could do it, I just knew-" Her voice breaks again. She ducks her head and starts to hack.

Gil doesn't look at the page, now covered by her dark hair as she doubles over. Dust smears her arms and faded blue dress and paints premature grey streaks in her thick hair. His frown deepens. He reaches down and grips her arm and hauls her to her feet, still coughing. "Enough," he says. "I grow weary of this place."

She tries to answer and winces. Gil lets go of her arm to touch her throat with rough fingers. Her mana is at half its usual strength, and it takes more of his personal store than he likes before her coughing fit eases and she can speak without pain. "Sorry," she croaks, and clears her throat. "I'm almost done. I've already finished cleaning upstairs and one of the bedrooms. Just one more day-"

"I have already said it is enough. I am weary of the dust of this place."

She sighs, knowing better to argue. "Alright. Let me go wash and get changed first."

"Do not keep me waiting," he warns, but the edge has gone out of his voice.

"I know." She stoops and picks up the tome that had fallen out of her lap. Brilliant motes of light shimmer behind her as Gil dematerializes. She sneezes (immaterial spirit particles make her nose itch) and makes her way upstairs.

The bathroom is Victorian, with plumbing that was probably built in along with the invention of the light bulb. She waits for the water to turn from liquid ice to steam, shifting from bare foot to foot on the cold tile. The hot water scalds her skin as she clambers over the high sides of the massive porcelain tub and sinks into it with a drawn-out sigh of contentment.

She stays in there for a good hour, and takes another twenty minutes to drag herself out, towel herself off and find a clothes that aren't from WWII. Her only pair of jeans are dirty from travel, and she only brought a few dresses. After a few indecisive minutes posing in front of the tarnished mirror, she finally picks a navy blue buttoned-down shirt and a long black skirt that hides her boots. She looks like a school girl, but it's better than the high-necked old-fashioned dresses _Fraulein_ Sessemann made her wear. 

She really needs new clothes, she thinks, and sighs and opens the bedroom door. 

Gil shimmers back into existence as she walks out into the brisk sunlight. He's wearing modern clothes again, she notices, not the gold-embroidered robes he preferred at the castle. Today it's a long white jacket over a crimson shirt and close-fitting black pants. His golden hair is casually brushed back and he's wearing dark sunglasses to hide his eyes. 

He looks like a model, she thinks, and sighs again. So much for not attracting attention. 

"Alright," she says, trotting to keep up with his long strides as they turn down the winding road leading to the city. She starts to unfold the map and promptly trips over her own feet. Gil glances back as the map flutters out of her hands. His pale brows shoot up, but he makes no comment as he tugs the map out of midair. Gwen takes it back and hastily puts it back into her satchel along with the money and instructions Elder Ulrich sent, flushing. 

"So the first ley line is by Ryu- Ryud-" she stumbles over the unfamiliar Japanese pronunciation. "By the temple," she says exasperatedly, and looks around. The sun is just beginning to set over the the skyline of the city to the west. To the east, jutting out of the rising hills, are sloping roofs and unmistakable line of stairs cut into the mountain. Gwen frowns. "So if the temple's over there, and the city's this way..." She swivels. "Then we should be heading up the road."

"The ley lines will wait," Gil says, already sauntering downhill. "If my memory serves me correctly, there is an excellent establishment where they serve mapo tofu in the city."

"Mapo what?" Gwen jogs after him. "Gil, wait!"

"Prepare to have your senses overcome, little Master," Gil says without slowing down. "If you survive the experience, I shall even purchase suitable attire for you. I believe there was a store downtown that had the most curious clothes. And, of course, we shall revisit the local bars. There was one with exceptional beer, not as good as my own stores of course, but with a delicate quality worthy of a king..."

"Gil, this isn't a shopping trip. Elder Ulrich-"

"The Einzbern elder knows nothing of pleasure. Clearly he has taught you the same dull taste for life." He looks back at her, his expression unreadable behind the sunglasses. "Come, Gwenhwyfar. It is well past time for you to experience the true joys of life."

Gwen stops, opens her mouth to argue, then closes it and shakes her head. "Alright," she says, and starts to laugh. She can't help it; she's been itching to go out and explore and get a taste of freedom ever since they arrived. She can feel Gil's anticipation pulsing through their bond, making her giddy with adrenaline. She trots to catch up again. "But just tonight, alright? We really do have to start building our defenses, and find the ley lines, and prepare-"

"All in good time," Gil says. "But tonight we shall feast and drink, as befitting the arrival of a king."

He really is in a rare good mood tonight, she thinks, glancing sideways at him. The dying light glints off his hair and turns his pale skin to statuesque ivory as he throws his head back proudly. She ignores the warning voice in the back of her mind that whispers that they shouldn't go outside yet, that they have no defenses yet and every Master in the city will be looking for them. 

She's with Gil. Nothing can hurt her. 

She slips her fingers in his. His hand is dry and callused and easily envelops hers, making her feel like a child again. "And queen," she says recklessly. 

Gil laughs and rumples her hair with his free hand. "Not yet, little Master," he says mockingly. "Not yet."

* * *

Mapo tofu turns out to be a steaming bowl of noodles and sauce that tastes like hellfire. She holds a napkin to her running nose and blinks her burning, aching eyes while Gil finishes off his bowl and starts on hers. "Impressive, is it not?"  


"Impressive isn't the word I'd use," she says grimly, and he throws his head back and laughs uproariously. 

They find a Western-themed restaurant where the food doesn't try to kill her. Gwen eats ravenously, but not as ravenously as Gil, who downs two hamburgers, three bowls of soup, two bottles of a wine she can't pronounce and three-quarters of chocolate raspberry cake. 

She finishes her slice of cake slowly, licking the chocolate off her fingers and sipping the glass of wine Gil insisted she try. Her stomach is very full and her head is pleasantly cloudy by the time they leave, and all she wants to do is go back to the manor and sleep, but Gil has other plans. 

So she follows him sleepily through the shopping complex while he keeps up a running narrative on the quality of modern clothing and how strange the styles have become since last he was summoned, all while an assortment of clerks switch from metaphorically licking his boots to kicking them out of the store.

"Aha! This coat pleases me. Gwenhwyfar, carry this."

"Sir, the girl cannot accompany you inside the mens' changing station-"

"Cease prattling and fetch me another of those leopard-skin pants, servant."

"Gil, you can't just call people servants -pardon us, sir- _Gil!"_

They reemerge several hours later, Gil triumphantly storing bag after bag in his Gate. "A fine collection," he muses.

Gwen covers a yawn. "Are we done yet?"

"Hardly. Come, Gwenhwyfar, we must attire you accordingly."

"Gil, it's almost ten _-Gil!"_

It's almost one by the time they finally head back. Gil probably could have gone on all night, but she falls asleep in the second bar and almost gets kidnapped before her Servant notices the two men trying to hustle her outside. 

She wakes up again to Gil setting her down in her bed in the manor. She burrows under the crisp sheets gratefully. "What time is it?" she asks drowsily. 

"Nearly two in your mortal time." 

"Oh." She squints blearily at the dark curtains. "Wake me up if anything happens."

Glittering gold greets hers as he dematerializes without a reply. She's asleep again before her head hits the pillow. 

* * *

 

She dreams of Wales.

She's six, sitting cross-legged on the low stone wall while her _Nain_ scrubs clothes through the old-fashioned washer. The fresh bruises on her knees throb.

"Why can't I use magic?" she whines. "I like it."

The old woman pauses to stretch her back with a groan. "Everything comes at a cost, Gwen," she says sternly. Her Welsh is rough and melodic, like Gwen's scratchy wool blanket. "Even magic."

"Then I'll pay it." She swings her bare feet out over the lush grass, ignoring the bitter sting of the wind sweeping over the hills. "You use your magic."

"Aye, and I've paid for it, too. T'ain't worth the cost, Gwen. Now stop flapping your sails and help an old woman with her chores."

She heaves a sigh and slips off the wall. Her feet hit cold stone.

"This is your duty," Elder Ulrich is saying. He fixes her with pale blue eyes, tucking his wrinkled hands into his wide grey sleeves. "If I hear of you taking it lightly again, you shall be punished accordingly."

Gwen shifts, locking and unlocking her cold fingers behind her back as she struggles to decipher the thick German. "Ja," she says.

The old man nods to her companion. " _Fraulein_ Sessemann?"

The _Fraulein_ rests a hard callused hand on her shoulder. "When you speak to the elder, you must say 'ja, Meister, understand?" She shakes her roughly. 

"Ja, _Fraulein."_ Her eyes slant towards the elder. "Ja, Meister."

Elder Ulrich nods. "Call for the tutors," he tells Sessemann. "I want her to begin the next level tomorrow."

Sessemann's knobbly fingers dig into Gwen's shoulder. "Ja, Meister Ulrich." 

She is pushed down the winding stone corridors and into a windowless room. The woman turns on the sputtering gaslight and grips the door. "I shall come for you when it is time for supper," she says, and shuts the door firmly and locks it. 

The hollow clang of the lock jolts through her. She opens her eyes. Crimson slits glow in the darkness above her. She bolts up as another clang ripples through the air like a shattered bell. Gil steps back. Gold gleams off his heavy armor.

"We are under attack," he says curtly, and the third clang rattles her bones like a thunderclap. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So apparently you can write much longer chapters and include actual plot details when it's not 2 am and you're racing the clock to finish in time to sleep before class...who knew? d:

**Author's Note:**

> This is a more or less revised version of my original story. In the end, I kept having writer's block and the story just wasn't working out, so I ended up changing the plot and things came together. Thank you so much to you (wonderfully patient) readers who stuck with me while I dabbled with plot lines and random chapters, and I hope you all enjoy this new and improved version of Changing Fate!  
> Y'all are the best!  
> >3 SpiritofaRose


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